


Hawke Shorts

by Farstrider



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Gen Fic, M/M, Multi, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farstrider/pseuds/Farstrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collections of shorts and such for Conner Hawke - loosely based in the Care&Feeding arc. Not in any big chronological order and its fairly easy to guess where things may take place if they exist in the time line at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hawke Watching

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Beats Antique – Runaway

Isabella had not been in Kirkwall long to already figure she was not a fan of the place. Mostly due to the fact men were all around who wanted her dead, or that creepy guy who hit on her in ways that would make a butcher ill, and the booze that passed for a decent drink in the Hanged Man was swill. She did find a few people interesting to overhear. Of particular interest was that Dwarf who owned the suite in the back and his eclectic group of friends.

A painted elf with legs that went for ever, tattoos that would make sailors jealous and an attitude as prickly as his armor.

A little waif of an elf girl with less sense in her head than in a poor man’s change pocket but she had a cunning look to her. The tattoos on her face reminded her of that friend of Zevran’s she met once.

A Ferelden blond with feathered shoulders and in dire need of a sandwich

Another cute little Ferelden girl with beautiful curls that fell on a swell of ample cleavage that – if she was truthful – she was jealous of.

But it was the man of the group, different than the painted brooding one or the one who talked too much. No the one with the daggers, who smelled of leather and the wind when he walked by with a smile that could charm the sea.

He was the interesting one.

She was drug from her musings by the titter of some of the serving girls in this ungodly hour of the morning as they ran towards the roof access of the Hanged Man. The bartender shook his head and sighed.

“Where are they off to?”

“Hawke watchin’.” He rolled his eyes, leaning in towards her to speak quietly. “You know that fellow what hangs out with Varric, the dark haired Ferelden? Seems he practices his knife play on the roof tops when the weather is nice. Some say he even runs across the roof tops to get around the city fast. Queer isn’t it?”

“I think I’ll have to judge that for myself.” She got up and followed the girls into a sunny morning. The air was still cool, not yet warmed up by the sun and the clouds were just dissipating from the storm that blew like hell but didn’t lay a drop of rain. She crouched down near the girls at the roof edge to see what exactly had their attention. “I don’t see…”

“Shh. Here he comes.” One of them pointed. Sure enough a shape – a shadow among the shadows of High Town – was moving along the roof tops in their general direction. She had heard tales of people running along rooftops but had never seen it herself. She figured it would be something somewhat supernatural, bounding over long distances without fear.

The shadow moved along roof lines heedless of the fall beneath him, calculating each leap across a road way or buildings not to land and keep running but into rolls or cat like leaps to scramble up walls. Kicking off of taller structures to make it across distances, swooping off of exposed beams onto flat stone below… no it was not supernatural… it was mesmerizing. Everything took the man’s entire body to do – from rolls and pull ups to leaps and swings. No wonder he looked so bulky with all that armor on, Isabella mused. His final leap to the roof he stopped on was a great all out full run and fling into the air, totally abandoned yet committed to making the distance. The light caught him just so, setting his halo of dark hair alight with hints of bronze at the tips, a glint in those honey gold eyes as his leathers flew out behind him, arms spread wide…

Hawke indeed.

She glanced at the other women on the roof to see they weren’t going anywhere, in fact it seemed they were hunkering in a bit more.

“So what happens next?” She asked. One woman looked miffed she was prying, the other – a small elf woman with copper red hair – smiled.

“Now our da’mi practices.” She purred in an accent again reminding her of the Dalish and Zev all at once.

“What does that mean?” She questioned looking over to spot their quarry working his leathers …off?

The woman giggled in reply. “Little blade… which is anything but true.”

Frowning Isabella turned her attention back to Hawke who was now half out of his equipment. It was too far to see the right details and she cursed herself for not having her spy glass but they were close enough to see the defined muscles beneath all that armor. He’d stripped down to his pants and boots, his blades in hand as he moved through basic knife play steps. He worked his way to more complex feints and doges, blades flashing in the morning light as he shadow boxed. She was about to get bored when the first leaping kick happened, a swift bounce off the toes and snap of his hips to send him spinning then land on the ground again. This continued; bends and twists, snap kicks and weapon twirls… a true dance of blades she ached to be the partner of.

“Oh… oh my…”

“I know right?” The elf replied to her gasp eyes rooted on the twisting figure a few roof tops away “Wait it gets better.”

Hawke took a few steps before incorporating those leaps and bounds he used to travel into his knife play, twisting and contorting in ways she’d never seen a man do. A dancer maybe, covered in veils and chimes to bend in impossible ways for one’s enjoyment. He bent back, and back, and back until his hands were flat on the ground as were his feet, the swell of his manhood visible in his silhouette…

No little blade indeed… damn.

The bend finished in a hand spring that sent him bounding back across the roof, ever in motion. They were slowing down however; soon his blades set aside to continue the ever slowing contortions as he wound his morning exercise down. The slow… oh it was worse than the fast paced contortions… allowing them to see each movement as he bent or knelt or arched slow, to view the evolution of each form into the next…

Isabella was in dire need of some ‘me time’. She had to bed this man…or at least duel him… which if this was how he practiced could almost be better than sex.

“Hawke watching?” All three women froze solid as Varric spoke up, a mug of hot mulled wine in his hands. He laughed as all three women turned slowly to glare at him. “It is quite the past time.”

“Damnit Varric… he’ll notice you get down.”

“Oh I was counting on him being up here today.” He walked to the edge and shouted. “HAWKE!”

The figure of their admiration stopped mid hand stand to wave with a foot before righting himself. He put his arms out to the side in a ‘what?’ gesture.

“My place… half a candle mark! Got a lead!” Varric shouted back, receiving a raised hand in acknowledgement before the human bent to pick up his things and get ready to meet with ‘the boss’.

“You ruin all our fun.” The elf girl pouted.

“Only when I need him.” He sipped his wine. “Isabella right? Come down with me and I’ll introduce you… we could use another fast set of hands and I think we can help you with that pesky trouble you have been muttering about.”

“How did you… I never said anything!”

“My dear lady anything said in the Hanged Man is my privilege to know. I have ears everywhere.” He gestured for the door to the roof. “Come on he looks better all sweaty and ‘I love defying gravity’ up close. You can ogle him while I get the details of how he does that bendy stuff. For my book.”

Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to like this dwarf…


	2. Wine to go with that Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic prompts - Grapes
> 
> Grace night at the Hanged Man and Varric observes a few more interesting things about Hawke and his love of fruit.

Yet another evening together at the Hanged Man in Varric’s suite, the whole gang together over drinks and snacks and a deck of cards. As they were still teaching Merrill and Bethany to play they all decided to play for simple coin rather than anything big. Last week they played for stories which had been fun but certain branded elves got grumpy when they kept losing.

Not this week… actually as Varric looked around the table almost everyone was just a bit distracted… by Hawke of course.

And grapes… a big pile of green and red grapes.

Varric had learned the knife wielding fast talking human had a thing for fruit. Fresh fruit made him very happy and after the week they had he deserved a bit of happiness. Varric had not counted on him using it as a way to taunt all the other members of the party.

He picked each grape up carefully, gently, as if the act ought to be pleasurable to the vine as he chose a morsel to devour. He rolled the grape around in his fingers, gently bruising it to and fro to get the best juice out of it, elicit a better flavor. By now Isabella was watching the dark fruit in those nimble fingers her mind on other uses for such a technique.

“I didn’t know you liked Grapes, Hawke.” Merrill piped up, innocent to the thoughts rolling around in the others minds.

“I love them.” he said with a cheeky grin. “A perfect snack.” He tossed the grape in the air, opening his mouth wide, tongue peaking out a bit for the grape to land with a pop before he chewed once, eyes rolling back a bit before swallowing. “These are good ones too.”

Merill reached out to take a few herself as Hawke repeated the process with another plump red grape. This time Anders was watching as he put the fruit to his lips, biting it in half, letting his lips purse around the curve of the grape and suck just a bit to ensure he didn’t miss any of the juice inside. The apostate swallowed thickly.

“You enjoy grapes but not wine?” Fenris questioned, already half a bottle into the evening.Bethany answered it with a giggle.

“Wine makes Conner a bit… giddy.” the younger Hawke said earning a glare from her brother that held no heat. “He gets all giggly and its hard to tell us apart.”

“Oh ho? I’d pay to see that.” Aveline said drawing another card and taking a grape. Very straight forward her technique - pluck, put in mouth, chew, swallow. No teasing, no playing with it or even expression nearing orgasmic pleasure. Which was very Aveline.

“We put his hair in pig tails once.”

“Bethany!”

“He keeps his hair short now so I can’t do it again.”

“All because of wine?” Merrill asked mid giggle at the mental image a pig-tailed Hawke presented.

“No… a cask of wine. I still don’t know how he got it but … the three of us drank the entire thing.” She took a sip of her own mead to work the lump in her throat down as she thought about Carver. Conner leaned into her.

“I’ll grow it out so you can make un-manly fun of me again.”

“You’re the best Brother.” she leaned back into him for a moment.

“You two are so adorable it makes me a bit ill.” Varric said making a face. It worked, the two parted and Conner went after another grape. He was intrigued to see how Fenris would react, being the only one left who hadn’t.

The next grape was lovingly chosen as conversation drifted to hands of cards again, rolled between his fingers before he brought it to his mouth. He held the dark ruby fruit between his lips as he sorted out his cards, seeming unawares of the looks he was getting that were less subtle than the others realized. Cards chosen his tongue peaked out one side to wrap around the fruit securely before pulling it into his mouth where it rolled around one side as a bulge - which if the mind wandered could be something entirely different - before he swallowed it as is.

“Well this hand is rubbish… I’ll go get the next round.” Conner got up and looked about the table at everyone’s drinks. No one complained, each thanking in their own way. He paused though and wiggled his eyebrows at Varric.

“If you keep staring at me like that about Grapes… imagine what I could do with a banana.”


	3. The Great Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle at the coast and a man who can fly but cannot swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for Shaleene on Tumblr:  
> It was actually kind of peaceful down here, with the rippling light above and the dark pressure surrounding him. His lungs burned for air but the surface was so far away along the thick trail of red he left behind. Something broke the surface, a wash of bubbles and chaos breaking the calm… a halo of silver hair, lyrium brands shining into the gloom green eyes bright with fear. /You can’t die on me yet/ written in his gaze as he was pulled back up to the light /not today/
> 
> Songs: Into the Ocean - Blue October | The Great Below - Nine Inch Nails | Welcome To The End- Celldweller

The breakers along a particularly craggy part of the Wounded Coast roared and churned, throwing themselves against the rocks with thunderous violence. The sky was gray, the clouds looking just as churned up as the sea, threatening to open up and drown them. The wind threatened to toss him from his perch away from the grand melee before him into those grasping hungry seas. Lightning snaked through the cloud cover, its rumbling voice echoing the sea as it illuminated the coastline briefly before fading back to darkness.

Hawke wanted to take in the scenery, frightening as it was, simply because he was exhausted. Two weeks out on the coast and up and down Sundermount. Endless days of action, bickering, teasing, cold nights sleeping outside…and on the way home they run into trouble.

“Ataash Qunari!” A Sten bellowed before charging forward, like a gray wave towards his friends only to run right into Fenris who snarled back in Tivinter, sparks igniting along their clashing blades. Lyrium flared bright as the warriors made their own thunder in shouts, curses and roars. Bianca’s cadence of fire-reload-fire set a tempo to the battle as Varric stood towards the back to rain death upon the Qunari patrol who decided they needed to die.

“Suck on a Fireball!” Anders shouted as flames licked his fingers then engulfed one of the spear throwing bruits. His staff echoed the flames, snaking across the ground to its target. In the next breath the blue incandescent light of a healing spell surrounded him. Fenris was all that stood between the Mage and angry death at the hands of the Qun’s warriors. All three of them were focused on the bulk of the patrol, focusing down one target at a time. Which was fine… his job was to cut down stragglers anyway.

Hawke ran forward, using the rocky terrain to bound towards a Saaerbas, facing it head on. It turned its face towards him, fingers dancing to cast, electricity licking its fingers. Conner never gave him a chance, stepping it seemed into the shadow of a tree only to appear behind the mage, his daggers biting deep with crippling venom and twisting on the way out. Blood soaked the sand as he continued to disable the caster, slicing at the back of its knees before wrapping a hand around its stunted horns to sink a fang into its throat and cut it a new smile. He did not stop, moving fluidly from one death to the impending doom of the next closest target.

His next target, a spear wielding Aravaard had not missed his presence as he tore into his Saarebas. It roared and charged forward, slashing his weapon in hopes of catching the slippery rogue. It grazed the outside of his leathers as he ducked and rolled behind the behemoth, spinning immediately around to launch at its unprotected back. Maybe he didn’t move as fast as he thought, or another Qunari was just dam lucky. Something bit into his side, slicing deep into his gut. He could hear metal scrape his lower ribs, his tongue ringing with the sensation of flesh cutting. He pulled the offending thrown weapon out of his side, staggering a bit.

“Hawke!” Ander’s shout caused him to look the Mage’s way rather than at his foe…the butt of the spear hit his back hard, sending him tumbling onto the sand. Rough hands grabbed at his belts and he was hoisted overhead as if he weighed nothing…

“Let us see… if Hawkes can Fly!” the Aravaard snarled and with a roar heaved him over the cliff edge and into the air…

Fear gripped the rogue briefly as the sea drew back to show it’s fangs of stone beneath its surface. He hurtled down towards them, unable to stop, flailing in the air with a yell. A breaker rolled in, foamy hands reaching up to catch him and drag him down. He bounced off of the rocks, limbs askew as the currents pulled him in all directions, sucking him out to sea. No amount of struggling got him free…

… and he had no Earthly clue how to swim…

His head struck something, making him see stars that had just faded away. He stopped moving, body shocked into stillness as he sunk down towards the bottom.

Looking up his air starved mind mused it was actually lovely down here… the lightning illuminated the surface above and it’s disorienting patterns of light and undulating dark. So deep in the cold water he didn’t feel the burn of his wounds, the pressure around him almost comforting yet reminded him of the feelings he got when underground. Just what he needed to think about as he drowned, he mused, feeling claustrophobic.

This was just not his day.

Frightening as it was, as he ought to be… it was peaceful, quiet… the world dulled to the throb of his heart and distant thunder of the waves. Despite everything he felt himself relax…stopped fighting it. He was so tired of fighting.

His gaze was graying at the edges as he followed the red trail back to the surface. His feet scraped the bottom of the sea floor, tangling in the weeds. Above him the sea roared dully, interrupted by a splash, bubbles curling and churning around something that broke the surface.

His hair haloed around his head, a silver lining around dark skin and bright flaring tattoos. His heavy armor dragged him down towards Conner, that deceptively powerful body moving through the water as if born to it. Struck by how…ethereal… beautiful that image was before panicked green eyes met his…he let out a shocked breath and tired to suck air back in only to inhale brine. Fenris’ gauntlets dug into his arm as he was roughly grabbed pulling him to the surface. Conner struggled for breath only to suck in more water as he was hauled up and up towards the light and chaos. Rocks scraped his back as he was hauled onto the shore after a failed attempt or two, the sea reluctant to let them go.

“Damnit Hawke!” Fenris growled and his hands pushed hard on his chest, forcing sea water and blood out of the rogue with a cough and a gurgle. The sea gave up its grip on his lungs and he coughed, rolled onto his side before he choked. His vision blurred, pain flared up along his side, in his shoulders, all over his head. He ached for the stillness of the Below…

“Breathe Conner… please!” The pain in the warrior’s voice prompted him to obey, sucking in a shuddering breath only to cough again to expel more water. “Don’t you dare give up now!”

With the worst of the brine out of his lungs he focused on breathing, trying to ignore the pain but unable to. He was rolled onto his back, shoulders propped up on leather clad thighs. Fenris looked down at him, silver hair dripping, brands now back to their usual white color. He looked… frightened and angry at the same time. The shake in his fingers as he brushed strands of Hawke’s hair out of the way belied how much fear there was.

“Did… we win?” Conner winced as he croaked, another round of coughs aggravating his entire body. He couldn’t have been in the water that long yet he felt like he’d run up and down Sundermount all day carrying Varric on his back.

“You nearly drown and die after being impaled almost through and through by a spear and two head injuries and *that* is what you want to know?!” There’s that familiar scowl and heated rage he was used to…

“Yep.” Conner nodded and groaned. It hurt and shook up his already rattled brain. “Bad idea.”

“You will be the death of me, Conner.” Fenris shook his head unable to hang onto his sputtering anger. His shoulders drooped as he hunched further over the rogue to guard him from the wind.

“You called me Conner…” he never did that, not out loud. A blush flared along the elf’s features, his touch gentling.

“So I did.” His lip quirked just a bit. “You point out the oddest things when you almost die, Hawke.”

“You say that… like it happens a lot.”

“It does.” Fenris was leaning in close, almost nose to nose…he might be checking for a concussion… Conner hoped it was to kiss him. That would be a nice thing.

“Oh…oops.” Conner grinned up at Fenris with his ‘you can’t be mad at me’ smile. It hadn’t worked on anyone in years however…

“Pfah…. Fool.” The word stung, or would have, if the elf wasn’t smiling. “Stop it.”

“If I did… you couldn’t effect dashing rescues and get me in your lap as often.”

“You planned to nearly drown?” dark brows furrowed together, at this angle it looked rather amusing. Or maybe that was because there were two of Fenris. That could be a handful.

“No… but I won’t complain about the results.” Conner smiled and let his eyes shut, too hard to keep them open and it hurt his brain.

“Fool…” Yep, defiantly said more affectionately.

“Only for you.” He muttered drowsily… he knew Fenris was talking at him but it was hard to hear over the thunder in his ears. Something shook him, but it wasn’t enough to pull him back out of the dark. /I must be passing out./ he mused before slipping into the Fade.

He dreamed of silver halos and dancing blue lights, the heat of arms around him and the quiet burble of bubbles leaving his lips…


	4. Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped in the Deep Roads Hawke has a moment of weakness. Conner POV. Another Tumblr prompt.

I can do this… we have to make it out alive. Fuck whatever Bartrand intended. We’ll live just to spite him. That’s how I have to think about it. Don’t think about being trapped, being a week – a WEEK- underground. Don’t think about the lack of moving air, or how hot it is when it does move, or the lava lighting, or the crumbling stone…

Breath Conner… you need to breath they’ll notice…

“Hawke?”

Don’t jump around too fast like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs it’s just Aveline who’s managed to sneak up on you in full fucking plate armor.

“Humm?” Give her a grin, stop fidgeting with your throwing knives you keep cutting your arm. You’ve been playing with blades for years why are you messing up now?

Oh right stuck underground never to see the light of day again… not helping yourself Hawke.

I jump when her hand lands on my shoulder and the knife in my hand clatters to the floor.

“I said you need to sleep… it’s been over a week.” She looks me over as she would any of her guards but it softens… “You look like shit Hawke.”

I laugh; it starts to sound a bit unstable so I stop. “I’m fine…”

“Bull shit.” She pushes me to sit down on a broken boulder and crouches in front of me. “You’ve been making sloppy mistakes and been jumpy all day. You need rest.”

“I can’t…” breath, slow and calm she doesn’t mean you any harm just slow and…steady. “We’ve been ambushed twice by things Anders’ cant sense. You guys need rest too…”

“Conner… stop worrying about us for a damn few hours and rest.” She’s doing that evaluating thing again, its making me antsy and I can’t stop my fingers from wanting something to do… “What is troubling you, Conner. I need to know.”

“I just… I can’t sleep. Not down here.” Don’t sound like you’re five you are a grown man damn it. Father or Carver wouldn’t have this much trouble.

“Its not the Spawn that bother you, or the betrayal its… down here isn’t it?”

“Damnit why do you have to be so perceptive?” Fuck I said that out loud.

“Because its what I do. Why in the Maker’s name would you come down here if you are claust…”

“Because my family *needs* the money! We need to be out of Gamlen’s. Th…they need me to so I have to be here Aveline. End of story.” I hold her gaze and the words help push the panic away. “Now we’re all…*gulp* down here and we need to not be so I will do everything I can to get us out of here.”

“This isn’t on your shoulders alone Conner.” Her hand touches my face and I close my eyes. Don’t lose it now. I lose it now we’re lost… I …I don’t know if I can pick it back up down here.

Deep breath in, you can do this Conner. They need you. You need them. When you are out you can freak out.

Mother can’t be left to think you are dead.

Bethany needs you to keep her out of the Templar’s hands.

Varric deserves to get back at his brother.

Aveline has a career to get back to.

Anders doesn’t want to die down here, it isn’t his calling and he deserves better.

Your friends need you.

I want to see Fenris again…

There is no fear… I will let it pass through me. I have no space for fear.

I open my eyes, hard as stone and I do not feel weary.

“We’re getting out of here.”


	5. Things to Love, Things to Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another request fic off of Tumblr. Hawke & Fenris and a rainy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Helios - Halving The Compass

Rain battered the foliage beyond the cave mouth where Fenris curled tighter into the man behind him in a vain attempt to get warm. His brands ached, his skin was cold and the memories of old…they never let him rest in the rain.

It was pouring down so hard they couldn’t see the trees, the fat drops soaked right through metal and armor, soaking both men with a winter’s rainy chill. His breath puffed into the air already saturated with moisture causing a few barely dry curled ends of Hawke’s hair to dance. Secretly Fenris liked it when that mop of unruly near-black hair was wet. It grew in length, curled along his skin and begged to be touched.

Huddled together under Hawke’s cloak there wasn’t much space to move without risking cool air to touch nearly bare skin. Their equipment was scattered around the stone floor of the cave, weapons at hand but mostly they were undressed. No fire was lit; everything was far too wet to do more than smoke them out. Another thing he loved about Hawke – he was always warm, be it his personality or physical heat.

Then again he knew a better way to share an enclosed space with little clothing on that would generate heat. Fenris snorted at himself quietly. He sounded like Isabella.

He let his hands wander the planes of Hawke’s chest and stomach, fingertips catching here and there on scars not yet worn smooth. He loved Hawke’s skin. It was a map of every chance, every risk, all his failures and triumphs that had yet to claim his life. They were his to see, to touch, to kiss and love. He’d reduced the Champion to a blubbering mess once with the simple act of treating every scar he could find with the care one would a new wound. All of it tied to his man’s heart, every scar had a string of gossamer that reminded him of a time and place. History written in pearled pale flesh that only Fenris had the privilege of reading at his leisure.

Strong arms wrapped around him to pull the elf close, Fenris responding in kind to wrap his arms around Hawke. He rested his head on Hawke’s shoulder, his ear pressed to the skin of his throat, stubble from not shaving tickling the sensitive skin. He loved Hawke’s heart beat, a rhythm all its own that banished the memories of the rain and the hurt and…

…that beat thrummed under his ear not like it did in battle or in arousal but in…fear? He knew Hawke’s moods as well as he hid his own. He stilled and focused on the man under him.

The Fastest hands in Kirkwall trembled a bit, his breath too measured, too even to match the thunder of his blood. Looking up Hawke’s eyes were shut, dark brow furrowed.

“Hawke?” he flinched when Hawke did as he ran his fingers along the other man’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Humm… oh nothing…” he smiled, the ‘Maker don’t let them know I am not really smiling and the leave this alone’ smile. Eight years of being with Hawke and Fenris was a master of the language of his smiles.

“Hawke…” He used his own weapon – the Merrill proclaimed Puppy Eyes. Hawke sagged and sighed.

“I… just dislike being in a closed space.” He muttered embarrassed by admitting a weakness. “I know we can see outside but the opening is so small and the stone /so/ close and…” he stopped himself as his breathing was getting out of check, forcing that legendary Hawke Willpower to work the panic back down.

“You are claustrophobic?” Fenris said disbelieving. “You went down into the Deep Roads… Twice. All that skulking around caverns and caves… mines and old ruins…your own wine cellar…Dark Town…”

“Igetityoucanstopnow…” strong fingers gripped almost to bruising to make Fenris stop and upon hissing out discomfort softened with a muttered apology. “I… always had something else to focus on… and Varric kept me distracted he was the first to notice…you… you weren’t with us down there. I didn’t want to drag you underground.”

It explained a lot about the others behavior when they got back. Varric always talking to distract Hawke, force banter out of him. Anders hovering distance grew a bit but he still did, reminding Hawke to breath, something about his heart. Aveline always went first in any cave system, always made sure to find a wide space for them to fight or if need be camp and never far from Hawke… if he’d been forcing himself to stay calm and focus on the task at hand it meant he did not sleep. Fenris was /very/ aware of Hawke’s battles with sleeping when he needed to. He didn’t sleep to not dream… Hawke didn’t sleep because he thought he had too much to do and his mind wouldn’t let him.

He had questions – oh so many of them that clamored to be first past his lips – but he remained silent. Shifting within the warmth of the cloaks around them he settled in Hawke’s lap, arms around his neck and fingers running through his hair slowly. Hawke’s head fell to his shoulder, nose buried in the juncture of neck and shoulder. It was his favorite spot. With his back to the rain Fenris could ignore it. His hands wandered to work tenseness out of taught muscles, the steady beat of his heart, billows of his breath served to calm Hawke down despite how close they were.

“This… does not bother you?”

“No.” Hawke swallowed thickly, his eye lashes tickling Fenris’ skin. “It’s you.”

Fenris smiled and kept it up, even letting his brands glow softly as night fell and darkness surrounded them both. Hawke relaxed eventually though he did not move. Gone were thoughts of crumbling tons of rock above his head. Gone were memories of cold nights and cruel hands.

“Sorry to be such a coward. I mean I know how you get when it rains…”

“Hush.” Taking the rare opportunity Fenris kissed the shell of Hawke’s ear. “It is no trouble. It is you.”


	6. Champion Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a Holiday Party, Fenris thinks about who Conner belongs to and how far he's come.
> 
> Gift fic for everyone written for the holidays.
> 
> Fenris POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sound tracks:  
> Soundtrack - Fenris Theme | Lullaby - Nox Arcana | Once Upon a December

The Champion of Kirkwall belongs, so people believe, to everyone in the city. Specifically the nobility. They did not see him cook for a week straight and feeding the poor of Dark Town and the Alianage via Ander’s clinic. They did not know how he spent days scrounging up clothing for those who needed it or wood for cold hearths. They did not know about the newly healed broken knuckles or the still mending ribs under his clothing when he ran afoul the Carta. No the Champion belonged to the entire city.

When all is said and done however… he is mine.

Despite how much Conner complains about all these parties and the demands of being a Nobleman he plays the part beautifully. Tonight the Hawke/Amell estate is decorated in the manner of the season – candles, ever green, glittering glass, polished bronze ornaments – the crowning glory a huge tree in the corner by the stairs all lit up. Everyone is dressed in the finest things. Gold drips down women’s ears and necks whilst rings wrap dainty fingers which Conner holds ever so gently to bend and kiss knuckles. He’s a knave among the nobles and the women love it.

Few of them realize what chaos it took to get to this fantastic point. All of us helped and Conner needed it. Merrill found all the greenery. All the ladies went out to find the right decorations, dragged Conner out to the tailors to be fit. Aveline made most of the metal work ornaments while Varric and I covered her patrols for her. Anders of all people found the blown glass from a craftsman in Dark Town. Sandal enchanted dozens of little glass globes to make the lighting on the trees and garlands while Bodahn handled the guest list and the menu. Orana and Conner spent half the day in the kitchen before she kicked him out to go get dressed. They are all here, doing their parts, mingling or helping in the background. Anders is absent however – his clinic never shuts down on cold nights like this.

Not that any of these people know what it is like to be us, or where we came from. If they did it’s a distant memory. Conner moves among them so easily. The right words here, the correct inclination of his head or how hard he grips a hand. Never at fault, never the wrong thing at the wrong moment and even if he did falter they’d forgive him. He is low blood after all and new to this life. He is the consummate host however, his first party without Lady Leandra to help. He glances at her picture a few times as he falters remembering names and titles.

He could not dance. He knows the steps to a battlefield and has never faltered when running over the roof tops but the man was an absolute klutz when trying to dance. He apologized for every bruised toe every time he stepped on me as we went through every dance I remembered. The music Orana played on the lute brought the memories up of watching parties like this… but he kept them from getting worse.

Leandra drilled him on the names of families, who was related to who, which scandals were known or not or slightly obscured. It filled his brain to bursting and while he complained in private he seemed to like it. It was like a con, complex and dangerous. As soon as Varric mentioned this to Conner he fell into it with gusto. Leandra was so proud of him at the first party she threw.

His mother worked hard to ensure, when they got the estate back, he learned everything he could about what it was to be a noble. I was far more help than either of us realized. She thanked me for it endlessly and even sought me out for help when it came to throwing her own parties. It… was very nice to be held in such regard by her even if she did not approve of our relationship such as it was then.

She’s gone now. Only a year has passed but I know Conner still sees her ghost, still feels her here even now.

Lady Reinheart notices too apparently. When he greets them near the table of punch and snacks, she takes his hand between hers. He bows his head, his neatly combed hair falling a bit askew to hide his eyes as he thanks her again for her condolences. Even in this – the wounded lost child – it is an act and he is the one who plays the heart strings.

He makes such an attractive, tragic figure, our city’s Champion.

I see her smile and look around the room, eyes settling on me and my quiet corner near the stairs. She tugs him closer and then nudges him away smiling at the bit of red on his ears. I sip my wine and watch him move across the room; let my eyes rake over the fine well fitting clothing and how it moves.

My mind removes it; he seems to know and slows down. Piece by piece my imagination strips him bare of mantle of Lord Hawke. Beneath his clothing I know he is armed, he never goes anywhere without a blade. They are gone too in the slow bat of my eyes. I strip him of it all… the masks… the pretenses… the lies and exaggerations of the man they all know him to be.

When he stops in front of me and offers me a hand to dance he is simply Conner. My mind’s eye can see the way his skin moves over muscle as he leads me to the dance floor… he even lets me lead.

“This is bold…” I warn him, a reminder not many people here think highly of me, of our relationship.

“I don’t care.” He shrugs. Always the risk taker, my Hawke is. “Let them see, let them titter… when the lights go out and my hall is empty you will still be here…” he pauses, missing a step and I have to spin us a bit faster to keep up. “I mean… you can stay you are always welcome to and… I know you have your own place for your own reasons and all…”

“All right.” I laugh at his awkwardness. No Hawkwardness… Isabella coined the phrase and it’s oh so accurate. “You make a convincing argument Hawke.”

“Humm?” The last of his masks slips off, mostly in his eyes. That boyish excitement tempered by a pain… one I put there. For all his boldness and strength I know his weaknesses well.

He cannot swim well, better than not at all. He gets claustrophobic. He has insomnia… he fears being alone above it all though.

“I will stay.” I say clearly for him. “For you, I will stay.”

He has a million smiles. This one however, that makes his eyes brighten like flame, which takes years and hardships away from his features to look as soft as fresh snow…

This one is simply mine.


	7. Second Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris goes to the Hawke Estate for breakfast with the gang... warm and fluffy moment.

Despite the cold and his numb feet Fenris liked this time of year in Kirkwall. The city had this magic quality with the fine dusting of snow glittering in the early morning light. Winding the scarf Leandra made him one more time about his neck the elf hurried his steps to Hawke’s estate. He could see other foot prints in the snow at the door - Isabella’s heals pushed right to the stone under the snow, the even measure of Aveline’s stride, the little dimples left from Merrill’s curling toes.

The door opened for him, Bohdan smiling at him and waving him in.

“Good Morning Sir. Glad to see you come by.” the dwarf smiles broadly and took Fenris’ coat - the one he insisted he didn’t need but Hawke pouted at him so he kept it. What hit him first was the warmth of the house and he felt his feet ache as they warmed up.

The second was the smell…

A perfume of delicious sweet bread wafted through the house, mingled with the meaty aroma of sausage and bacon to make his stomach grumble and mouth water. He could hear the others talking and the crackle of the griddle from the kitchen.

“The others are in the kitchen with Master Hawke and you are welcome to join them.”

Fenris nodded his thanks and headed that way. It was one of the many talents Hawke had, cooking, but few realized it. Which was fine at first it meant he could indulge his lover his odd need to feed him. Over the years every one else learned of this particular talent and once a week they gathered. In colder weather Hawke out did himself every week and everyone went home with leftovers. It was yet another thing he loved about the man.

Clustered along the wall were his friends with mugs of hot mulled cider in hand sharing small talk. Seated on one of the stools was Isabella with a lap full of Merrill sharing a mug together. Aveline had dragged Donnic to the house and both were huddled together munching on a sweet roll. Varric was attempting to kidnap a piece of finished bacon…

 ***CRACK***

“OW! Son of a shaved nug Hawke that hurt!” Varric shook his hand to get the feeling back in it as Hawke smirked and went back to stirring whatever it was he was making now, Hellraiser the spoon of Doom in hand. “You should use that rather than your damn daggers…”

“I warned you not to sneak anything. There’s plenty to snack on stay away from the bacon.”

“Stingy bastard.” the dwarf muttered before abandoning his caper to sulk as much as he could anyway.

Hawke rolled his eyes and looked the elf’s way. He smiled…it lit up the room, made the heat from everywhere wrap around his soul and sink in his skin. Fenris crossed the room and stole a kiss - his first public one - because it felt right to do.

“Thank you for coming luv.” Hawke murmured into his hair.

“I can’t think of a place I’d rather be.” Fenris rested his head in Hawke’s neck, like he did when it was just the two of them together not in a room full of people.

“Now that’s adorable… Hawke you’re so the woman aren’t you?” Isabella asked.

“Pft.. I’m only standing in the kitchen making breakfast for my friends in the damned apron you all got me and kissing my lover good morning.” one of his arms slung around Fenris’ waist to keep him from running, pulling him close. “Not domestic enough for you? I could sweep the house in a string of pearls next.”

The round of laughter and teasing filled the space along with the heat of the stove, making everything feel, despite crossing a line he told himself he’d never cross…good. It felt right.


	8. Hey Look, A Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party banter...The boys (Varric, Fenris, Anders & Conner) head to the Bone Pits and make a discovery.
> 
> Alternatively this is a lesson in why Rogues should never try tankng.

“It’s JUST the Bone Pit he says.” Anders grouses, shaking his hair out of his face as he focuses on what his hands are doing. “What could go wrong with it we killed all the dragons and the spiders last time…what could **POSSIBLY** go wrong?!”

“I’ll admit to… Ah…a lapse in judgement…thhhhh unnhh” Conner sucked on his lower lip as he felt bones realign and begin to knit.

“Let us not forget the part where we found a High Dragon… and its brood.” Fenris adds from where he kneels behind Hawke’s head, propping the human up enough to keep him conscious.

“Oh then decides to try and **talk** to it.” Anders adds.

“Quite casually too.” Varric pipes up from the rock he’s propped up on. “Like talking to dragons is a normal thing for him.”

“I am right… AHhh sonofanughumpingwhoreANDERS…” Conner arches his back as Anders presses to his hip and removes a sharp scale from crushed bone. “Here…”

“You are lucky you are here. Stay still… bad enough you found the bloody thing and then decided to try talking to it… you go and climb the Blighted thing!”

“Long before I had it’s attention… and while it was writhing and then took to the air.” Fenris chimed in.

“This is why we wait to attack things, Hawke… people get mad when you stab them in the neck.” Varric wags a finger at their fearless leader. “Though points for Dragon Surfing before it bitch slapped you across the field.”

“I am so glad you all have something to say on the topic.” Conner said quietly between pained breaths.

“Oh I have plenty more to say Mr. I have a collapsed lung, crushed right rib cage, shoulder, dislocated elbow, broken hip, internal bleeding and … how many of me are there?”

“Too many…” Conner blinked and shut his eyes against the sight of so many hovering Anders.

“Ah add concussion and blood loss to the list.” Anders finished. “Someone is going to have to go back to Kirkwall and get some help. We can’t move him.”

“I am right here…”

“How long until he’ll be back on his feet?” Varric asks sitting up.

“Guys…”

“A week at least.” Anders looks at Fenris. “You will make sure he doesn’t try and pull another ‘Grace’ moment right?”

“If I have to ask Isabella to help me tie him to the bed I will make sure he does not leave.”

“Sounds fun Fenris but seriously stop talking about me like…”

“Shhh Hawke the grown ups are talking.”

Hawke raised his hand to face palm and found it too heavy to do more than lift a few inches and shake horribly before letting it thump back into the dust with a groan.

“I am going no where.” Fenris glared at Anders, who glared right back.

“I’m the healer so I’m not going.”

Both looked over to Varric.

“Oh no… I spent ten minutes running around with Bianca shooting at a small horde of dragons like they were a mess of kites behind me… I ran enough for one damn day.”

“Fenris… _look_ at him.” Anders ordered.

“Do not presume to order me, _mage_...”

“Its that or we all stay here and Hawke could either go septic from the dragon’s blood or freeze tonight because none of us have any equipment to stay let alone food.”

“Fine.” Fenris grit between his teeth before looking down at Hawke… than up at Varric.

With the puppy eyes.

“Andraste’s run panty hose…stop STOP ok ok FINE I’ll go. Just stop looking at me like that.” Varric got up to his feet. “I hate to be you Hawke when Aveline hears about this.”

“Oh that ought to be entertaining to watch.” Anders said grimly as he worked.

“I should let a bottle air out before hand.” Fenris added taking Hawke’s hand and feeling him squeeze tight.

“I still have some biscuits Merrill made.” for a moment Anders had a happy expression on his face.

“Sounds like a plan.” Fenris nodded holding Hawke's good shoulder still while Anders moved to work on the bad one.

“I so feel the love right nowowowOOOAAH…”


	9. Cold Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is unsure if he could do this. This being Hawke's lover, staying with the man, making a life with him...

Fenris had been… reluctant to stay permanently with Hawke. At first it was because he wanted his own space… to lie in wait for his now dead master.

After that it was just… habit. something he was used to.

It wasn’t at all because he was afraid of leaving a familiar space… accepting a change he felt undeserving of…

Not to mention no longer having a place to run to if something happened again between him and Hawke…

It was far too cold tonight however to stay in the drafty mansion… the Hawke estate was aglow with fire light, warm plush carpets under foot and warm mulled wine in hand.

He’d been up reading again, both he and Hawke curled up in Hawke’s huge bed under the blankets. At some point the human drifted off, most likely due to the long day running around Kirkwall. With the lights now lower, most candles guttering their last Fenris set his book aside and got up to put them all out.

It was not like he was doing this because he had to… he wanted to. Well it was bloody damn practical anyway.

Dressed in little more than his smalls and Hawke’s favorite jumper which swam on the human… it made Fenris look like a child. Fenris found himself pausing to look at the inviting bed, and the man in said bed…

Could he really do this?

“Mmnn… Fenris?” that sleepy rumble of a voice goes right down Fenris’ spine to a very happy place as Hawke looks up, hair a tousled fluff and blinks slowly.

“Coming back to bed… just putting the lights out.” He replied moving to do just that. The warm dopey smile he got before Hawke ‘offed’ back into the pillows wiggled it’s magic into his heart.

Throwing back the covers enough the elf climbed in and curled right up to Hawke. In short order they were tangled together, Fenris’ stomach pressed along Hawke’s back. He liked this position, spooning Isabella called it… and he indeed liked being the ‘big spoon’.

Shifting to get comfortable and warm Fenris pressed his feet along the back of Hawke’s legs. The Ferelden born rogue was very warm all the time…

“Bwaaah… Andraste’s tits Fenris your feet are freezing!” Hawke jumped and pulled his legs up to get away from the cold only to be chased.

“I am cold…you are warm.”

“Yes yes your personal space heater but… damnation I am getting you socks!”

Hawke got out of bed and began rummaging around for something to put on Fenris’ feet… unlike Fenris… he had nothing on but firelight.

Yes… yes he could do this.


	10. Sing Me To Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The die is cast, the pieces in play... and there is one lose end to deal with. Anders awaits his judgement for his actions.  
> SAD & character death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Asleep - Emily Browning, Sucker Punch sound track
> 
> *sobbing* Sorry Anders!!!!

"Whatever you are going to do… just… just do it." Anders choked out, seated on his box, hunched over. He didn't want to hear everyone bickering over what to do. Sebastian's voice was the loudest… second only to Fenris. Varric's choked angered voice hurt too…

Hawke crouched in front of him, tilting his chin up. They had some thing, once, before Justice got too loud, chased him away. It was better, even if it hurt to see him with that hypocrite of an elf…

"Hey… Anders look at me please." Anders looked into those honey eyes, full of a sorrow and a love he did not deserve. Hawke leaned forward and butted foreheads with the mage. "Tell me what you want."

"I…" He wanted to not be here, in this place, for things to be different. "I'm tired." was all that came out. Bone weary, spindle thin…he was exhausted. "I just want to sleep."

He watched as Hawke pulled his gloves off, felt those calloused fingers run along his cheeks and down the back of his neck through his hair. Justice railed at him that the man could kill him with those hands but he just didn't want to listen.

"Ok Anders…" Hawke smiled at him, eyes too bright, a bit too sad. "How bout a kiss good night?"

Despite things, the world coming down around them, Anders smiled. "You know I don't sleep well without one."

Hawke laughed a little and leaned in, chapped lips gracing those plump kissable ever smirking lips. Anders let his eyes slip shut as that silver tongue slid against his lips, parted them to welcome a deeper, much missed embrace. He fell fully into Hawke's arms, memorized the feel of leather and buckles and that strength that shored him up when he was weakest. He felt love, one never diminished by his pushing away, and he felt he'd come home…

He never felt the knife bite, or the poison on it chill through his veins, even Justice was silent in that embrace.

It just got dark, and distant…but it was ok.

Hawke never let him go.


End file.
